The Five Rules for Being a Successful Bartender
by LaneWinree51
Summary: The Marauders walk into a bar and engage in a competition to get the address of a pretty bartender.


For Marissa Langerhans, it was simply another shift at the bar. Sure, she had to be on her feet all day, the hours were less than desirable, and occasionally the clientele made her want to scream, but she had to admit that the pay was decent. When she saw the four of them walk into the bar, grinning to themselves as they made eye contact with her, she knew that she was in for another night of having to deal with advances from men she didn't particularly care for. Hopefully they would at least tip well.

She watched as they took a seat at a nearby table, trying not to allow an annoyed expression to creep onto her face. Rule one for being a successful bartender: don't let the paying customers get under your skin. Happy customers are more inclined to purchase drinks and tip more generously than upset customers. Customers weren't likely to be happy if the bartender was in a snippy mood. Marissa plastered a smile on her face as one of the four new visitors approached the bar. _Remember, Marissa,_ she said to herself, _put up with them and they put shiny coins in your tip jar._

"What can I get you, sir?" Marissa asked.

"Your address," The short man with the pointy nose said. "I mean some firewhiskey… Oh bugger all."

Marissa had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing, "One firewhiskey coming right up."

"I'm Peter, by the way," the man added as Marissa poured his drink. "What's your name?"

"Around these parts I'm simply known as 'Barkeep,'" she responded, setting the drink down on the bar top. "Enjoy your drink, Peter."

Marissa smiled to herself as the man walked away from the bar with his drink. Rule number two for being a successful bartender: When a customer makes a fool of themselves, respond in a manner that is unbearably polite. Often this would cause the customer to blush a lovely shade of red and stammer uncontrollably. While this practice didn't always result in a tip, it made for cheap amusement to pass the time by. Amusement allowed one to retain their sanity, and sanity is perhaps the bartender's most useful friend. Without it, the bartender would be just another person who enjoyed potent potables.

As she pulled a few mugs onto the bar top to clean, she spotted another member of the party of four approaching the bar. Marissa had to admit that he was at least good looking, tall and lean and handsome. She didn't much care for his long, dark hair, but at least it seemed as if this gentleman put some stock into his outward appearance. Perhaps too much, she thought to herself. Something about the aristocratic air about the man was unnerving.

"Vodka martini, stirred not shaken," the long-haired man said casually.

_If you're going to try and impress me with your knowledge of Muggle culture, at least get your popular quotes correct,_ Marissa said to herself. "Can't say I've had too many people order that."

"I think you'll find that Sirius Black is hardly an ordinary wizard," the man replied with a wry smile. "I don't believe I caught your name, Miss…"

_I would give anything for someone to hex me right now_ Marissa prepared a glass and set it on the bar top, "Barkeep."

"Well, Miss Barkeep," Sirius said, "I'm afraid I must depart, but I would hope we could speak again…Perhaps we could exchange-"

"Sorry, Mr. Black," Marissa interrupted. "I prefer a man who knows how to use a bottle of shampoo properly."

She could feel the man's frustration as he walked back to his companions. Rule number three for being a successful bartender: With some customers, the only solution is biting wit. A bartender wore many masks. They could be friendly or sympathetic, humorous or dour. Each personality was designed to respond to a certain type of customer. In the case of Mr. Black, Marissa needed to fight fire with fire. The only way to trump an ego like that was to prove that your own ego was larger.

The third member of the party approached the bar next. If this didn't end soon, Marissa was going to need a drink herself. This man was tall and thin with a mop of untidy black hair upon his head. His eyes were framed by round glasses. She noted that the man carried a certain air of confidence about him. This exchange was going to be painful and she knew it.

"Let's dispense with the pleasantries, shall we?" The man asked. "I've got a napkin and a pen here, and I would love for you to write down your address on it."

Marissa looked down at the pen and napkin, raising a brow, "I've got a bar full of alcohol and I would prefer for you to order something instead. What can I interest you in?"

"Oh you're no fun," the man said. "Come now, why don't we get to know eachother. I'm James. What might your name be?"

"The Barkeep."

"Barkeep what?" He asked.

Marissa smiled, "Just the Barkeep. Now, can I get you something? I've got other customers waiting."

"Firewhiskey," James replied with a tight-lipped smile. As soon as his drink was placed on the bar top he took it and retreated to his companions.

Rule number four for being a successful bartender: Always smile. A simple smile could convey a number of things. It could fool a customer into thinking you're interested in what they have to say. If expressed correctly, it could tell a customer that you wanted them to get out of your sight. It was a powerful tool to get what you needed without creating a scene. Of course, a proper smile could also win over tips from customers. That was always a good thing.

The fourth and final member of the party approached the bar. He seemed genuinely embarrassed, trying not to look back at his friends as he sat down on one of the barstools, "I am so sorry about them," he said sheepishly.

"Nothing I haven't dealt with before," Marissa replied. "Anything I can get you?"

"Huh?" the man blinked, "Oh! Just some red wine if you have any. I don't particularly care about the make and vintage."

Of the four, this man seemed to be the most endearing. Nothing in particular stood out about him, he was an average man of average height with an average appearance. Still, she found the fact that he was embarrassed about his companions' behavior to be rather adorable. He had been blushing as he walked up to the bar, ready to apologize for the others. Marissa set the glass of wine in front of him.

"I really am sorry," the man repeated. "Honestly I can't go anywhere with them without being dragged into some awful scene."

Marissa leaned against the bar, tilting her head to the side, "You know, you're kind of cute when you're thoroughly flustered."

"I can honestly say that's the first time anyone's ever said _that_ about me," the man replied, his blush shifting to a deeper shade of red. "Goodness, me. I haven't even introduced myself yet. I'm Remus."

Rule number five of being a successful bartender: Certain customers should become repeat customers. Marissa pulled a notepad from under the bar and scrawled her name and address on it, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Remus. I'm Marissa, and this is my address. Go rub it in your friends' faces and drop me an owl the next time you're nearby."

* * *

"I don't get it," Sirius said. "Every time. How do you do it?"

Remus smiled and glanced over his shoulder as they walked away from the bar, "We all have to use the tools at our disposal, Padfoot."

"Next time, you're going first," James remarked bitterly.

"Come now, Prongs," Remus replied, "if Lily found out you were still playing this silly game you'd be eating your meals through a straw for two months."

He smiled and folded the sheet of paper with the address written on it. Just one more for the collection.


End file.
